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Story:Kings of Strife/Int 3
Intermission Three Miles outside of the Mirage Desert, within the ancient capital and namesake city of Inusia, the Lance Knight met the Blood Knight inside a small building owned by the Serpent Society. Rather, the Lance Knight thought they were meeting the Knight of Blood. “It is finished,” the hooded man inside the apartment’s dark room said, and the Lance Knight could tell immediately that this was not their brother. The man had his back turned to the Lancer, and he was covered in robes, as was usual. The Lancer knew what illusion had taken place, and the faceless Knight crossed their arms in irritation. “You act with hubris,” the Knight growled beneath their dust-covered helmet. “Daring to impersonate the Lord. Disgusting.” The fervity of the Knight’s condemnation led them to shake their head in shame. “I am very busy with my mission at the moment. Covering for the mistakes of everyone has been difficult, tumultuous, and trying, even… but of course, I will not fail.” The figure speaking in place of the Blood Knight turned towards their comrade, slightly, and was still covered by the shadows of their undulating red robes. “Blame me not for your own incompetence. Your attitude has always grated on me, H4; tell me how your mission on this front has progressed, and speak truthfully, for in failure or dishonesty, I will crush your pathetic and unholy avatar, and I will come after you next.” “Worry not, beast. I do not fail, ever. And you cannot kill what is already dead.” “As if you could wax perfection, especially in the body of a fake Scale. The only perfect one is our Lord – you know this! Will you drown in your hubris, and save me the toil of ending your miserable life?” The hooded man turned and looked up to the Knight silently, and beneath his hood were two glowing golden eyes, like lanterns. Both the Knight and the hooded man stood in the dim shadows of the Inusia City apartment. So far they had made discourse in the living room of the place, all curtains drawn on the threadbare interior. “Come,” the man finally said as he lowered his hood, exposing a hideous face of decaying skin and hair missing in clumps. His glowing eyes were the only part of his visage with any vitality, for everything else seemed sunken-in, full of sores and discolored. The Lance Knight said nothing of the apparent Blood Knight’s appearance, and the dazzling armored figure only followed the robed specter throughout the equally dilapidated apartment. “Firstly, these bodies are called my Najash. I have told you this before.” “Usually they’re more silent. It allows me the boon of ignoring their revolting existence.” “This one speaks, because it is fresh. Anyway, as I said,” the robed man croaked, “My job is finished. Now, I should tell you, L9 – I haven’t had to operate on this… magnitude, before. She did not resist me, but most of the trouble was… unconscious.” “It sounds as if you are justifying a failure. The Lord does not accept failures.” The fake Knight visibly hesitated. “…Don’t you ever get lonely, L9?” “Four cycles of rebirth, and you are still incompetent. You still dare to believe that I would hold empathetic sympathy for you. How foolish you still are!” “I told you, I never fail.” Even so, the fake Blood Knight lowered his head. “Using my ability is nigh impossible on those who still draw breath, especially without a Crystal of my own to act with. It is a miracle that I managed what I did.” The Lance Knight said nothing more. Seconds later, the two serpents arrived at a dead end in a carpeted hallway, and the robed man opened the door slowly. Shadows erupted from the room within, inky and strong. As the darkness interrupted the mild twilight of the lightless room, the robed man seemed illuminated by the darkness in a sort of image that defied logic. His bone-thin body became visible as an outline beneath his numerous robes, and he leaned onto the door, as if using it for support. Even in a body not wholly his, one ravaged by loss of life and one removed from him by miles, the weakness and agony brought about by whatever was in the room managed to take an oppressive physical presence. The Lancer stepped forward, and even their shining silver armor was not impervious to the void that held onto their bulky armaments with grave urgency. “She has truly been chosen,” the Najash whispered, unable to pull himself off the door that supported him. “If I had performed my art on any other, they would have either perished or become a mind-broken slave. You both are truly incredible…” “Did you accomplish your task?” The Lance Knight moved forward to the center of the room, ponderously and with hands raised slightly. Even covered with metal gloves, the hands of the Knight visibly trembled. “You have not failed us, have you?” “No, of course not. She lives, and she lives for the Leader, and all that has been lost is a… small amount of recent memory.” The Knight froze. “You damaged her,” whispered the Lancer, barely audible beneath their glaring horned helmet. “She is not the same. She has been damaged.” “I wouldn’t say all of that. I’m sure her memory will renew upon familiar action or time, even. Keep her close to you and let her see your face. That’ll return her to perfection again soon, I’m sure of it.” Still frozen, the Knight’s shoulders tensed beneath the large armor holding over them. They knew not whether to chastise the living corpse behind them or to take one more step forward, allowing their eyes to look through the darkness and into the person they had been yearning to see for weeks. They struggled inside, slightly moving in each direction for at least two minutes, before finally taking a monumental step forward, immersing their shining armor completely into darkness and bringing the eye holes of their helmet to the light. In front of the Knight, laid out inside of a violet coffin laying on a table, laid the seventh Knight of the Serpent Society, her eyes closed and her body completely naked. Two single drops of blood stood, motionless, above her heart and her right eye. Her chest moved; her breasts swelled and fell; her heart pulsed; her body seemed immortalized, shining as it was from a single ray of light emanating from a skylight in the ceiling. Dark clouds resulting from the Lance of Destruction still held the sky hostage, but even these were not enough to block out the natural radiance of the final Knight. “She is not dead,” the pseudo-Blood Knight confirmed hastily. “I thought it appropriate to place her there, though. I remember the Leader saying to us all, years and years ago, that he knew he was chosen when he first saw his mother in her coffin. She was dead, but he said that he felt reborn there, as if the coffin was a vehicle for his life-in-death. A sort of pre-beginning. You understand, of course? You remember, don’t you?” “Yes,” the Knight whispered. “I remember that day well. It was the day I first saw my sister without her ambitious eyes.” Slowly, the Lancer reached up with gloved hands towards their helmet, fingers curling around the twin horns jabbing from the sides of their head – and they paused. Once again, they hesitated for an agonizing amount of time, but finally they lowered their hands and kept their helmet on. “You… you’re not going to…?” “Memory loss, you said. If she does not recognize my face, I might… I don’t know what I will do with myself.” “Yes, but… Are you sure that –” “What sort of difficulties did you come across, H4?” “Wh, what?” “The difficulties. Tell them to me.” The Lancer took a step forward, hands and shoulders low, and stared at the sleeping dark-haired woman with eyes that did not fit the glare of their menacing helmet. “I… As you wish.” The Najash sighed and retreated deeper into the darkness. “For an instant I saw inside of her mind, and I found nothing but attachments. She was running the entire time. From herself, and from us. In her absconding, she found someone, and she held onto the memory of him for dear life. She saw so much of him, and as I watched through it all, I felt almost as if she was watching me, as well.” “…but she is ours, again? She has been chosen once more?” “Yes, my sister. She will be.” “And will she awake soon?” “From the haze of memory, that immeasurable abyss, moving to and fro like an ocean? Yes. I have disconnected and connected her anew, and she will return to her normal self soon, after an initial period of shock. Be patient with her, sister. Be true to yourself, as well.” “Leave us, H4, and take your false Scale with you.” The Lancer’s voice was quiet, muffled more than usual, and weakened. “I will tell the Lord you have not failed.” “My mission is not completed yet,” the Najash responded, without moving. “After this body is relinquished to the earth, I will move in my actual one, and I will pay a visit to Kornelia, where my talents will be put to their ultimate –” “I know you will not fail. You know I will not repeat myself, inferior Knight.” “...I worry about you, L9. We all do. Of course, none of us can show it, least of all the Lord, but… you are his most powerful Knight. His most valued one. Don’t beat yourself up over this, please. Our salvation is so near…” In response, the Lance Knight was silent, but they turned their head back to the Blood Knight just slightly enough to make their movements perceptible. The Najash understood the hint and let his words trail off into nothingness. “Very well then, my sister. I only ask one thing: don’t suffer in silence.” The Najash blinked slowly, the golden light fading from his eyes as he did so. When his eyes opened fully again all the light faded from them, and the corpse became one with the lifeless darkness around him. After the small noise that resounded once the body fell to the floor, lifeless, the Lance Knight was drowned in empty silence. They stood, head bowed and arms quivering, mournfully. ...End of Third Intermission. <- Intermission 2 -Rescue- | Main Page | Intermission 4 -Corruption-